Catharsis

You knew that that was all there was
of waking and not knowing
the world
unreal unknowing
not caring
and

I tried
but

I was
not happy.

She was carrying a thin
boy who was killed last year

she said,
‘I was a fool not to be
loved
much.’

No, you can’t kiss
her standing on the steps.
She waved
climbing up into the capsule and spilled
his right hand
back
in my breast pocket

I
clasped it
and undid the throat
dropped him.

I saw

the mountain
had been hit.

She was killed
and I
would get all the floors
and the door
and the

silver
window
when it was dark
and we would drink
each other

in the hot night.

Dhiyanah Hassan is an artist/writer currently based in Penang, Malaysia, whose work documents an investigation into the significance of personal narratives – specifically in the context of trauma, memory, and healing. When she isn’t working on her projects, she freelances as an editor or illustrator. She recently read a personal monologue at the Voices: Woman I Dream showcase for George Town Literary Festival 2016, and curated her own solo show in 2015, I’ll See Your Red and Raise You Blue. She can be found on Instagram, Twitter, and on her blog.